


Fire and Steel

by autumnroses



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnroses/pseuds/autumnroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>//They are idiots, the lot of them. I refuse the need to feel guilt for my drug habits./ /John and Molly are clearly upset at Sherlock relapsing into his drug abuse. Stubborn Sherlock tries to blow off their concern. Hints of Sherlolly, Johnlock Brotp. His Last Vow Episode related. Contains some spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Steel

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt supplied by **tardis-impala-cab** : Sherlock hates how he hurt his friends when he was on drugs, but he hated hurting Molly the most

"Is he clean?" John asked. Everyone knew he wasn't. It was just like John to feel hopeful against all odds. Just the sight and smell of him was enough. The bastard Sherlock Holmes has been high as a motherfucking kite for at least a couple of weeks now. His cocaine levels are off the charts, almost inhumanly so. Marijuana was also present in his system, along with ecstasy, heroin and nicotine. If she didn't know any better, she would say he was trying to kill himself. Molly shook with anger. It was the first time she has ever been so furious, so scared. So _hurt._ But that was't right, was it? She wasn't supposed to feel _hurt_. She wasn't supposed to feel as if Sherlock is punishing everyone with his self-destructive behavior.

But she did feel it.

The slick sound of rubber gloves grated in Sherlock's ears. It made him cringe, it did. But there was also the small, furious voice Molly used as she answered John at the state of his excretory samples. It bothered him. Nevertheless, Sherlock brushed it away with an eyeroll. _What do they care really._ They go off marrying people and living their boring, miserable lives, and now, they're reprimanding him like a child. They're all idiots, the lot of them. They don't understand his purposes. He is tired of it. Tired of them. It made him go over the edge with John. He punched a door. He was pretty sure Mycroft has his own bit to say when they meet. Sherlock is determined to put him scampering away.

_Ah. Being high.. Invincibility at its best. Power--_

But as Molly faced Sherlock, his heart dropped and the supposed power melted into something entirely frail. _She knows. She knows. She knows._ It was all he read, over and over and over again. _She knows she knows she knows she---_

The first slap ripped through his skin and it felt like a chunk of concrete armor broke away with impact.

Anger surged up inside of him. Quiet, resilient anger. He wondered at this, slightly amused. He was never not akin to slaps. He might even daresay that he was immune to them. Most of the time it would be over something he said, anyway. Normally, he would chuckle. Dismiss it. Shake it off as a base reaction from cretins. Women, mostly. When they are left with nothing else to say they say it with a --

The second slap stung his face. A third. And it turns out this woman, _this particular woman_ in front of him _does_ have something else to say.

The pain on his face made him double over. His eyes regained clarity for a minute and it was enough for him to ingest her words. Annoyance bubbled in his chest. How could she do that?

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you've been born with! And how dare you betray the love of your friends!" she said.

Sherlock chuckled quietly. _Betrayal? Yes. Let's talk about betrayal shall we?_  His mind raced. There was so much emotion surging through him. Partly, the drugs fault. Partly hers. Unfortunately, one of the big ones was indeed, guilt. As if the contact of her skin osmosed the very core of her anger. It gave him a quick, delectable taste. One he was not particularly fond.

 _Why do they even bloody care so much anyway?_ Sherlock scoffed. _It is my body. I am doing it for a case. And why do they even care?_

But Sherlock knew why. High as he was, soupy as his brain was, he knew why. He kept his gaze away from her. Just a tiny glance at her clear, hot eyes and the feeling shot through him like a thunderbolt.

She was clearly shaking. Her body seemed radiate heat. Sherlock noted this with amusement, along with the fading instance of her engagement ring. Tom was it? They've been out of contact for around two weeks now, judging from the weight she had lost and the huge bags under her eyes. She has been crying over sappy romantic comedies again. Must've stayed up late this time, curled up with Toby judging from the flecks of stray fur on her trousers. 

"Say you're sorry!" She demanded and Sherlock almost laughed.

Derision drove into him like a pile driver. _Molly Hooper._ He decided that he _could_ hate her. Couldn't he?

 _Don't think for a second I'm not aware of what you're doing, Doctor Hooper._ He thought with calm intensity. _Don't think I don't notice how you weild your power over me. You demand for my contrition, now? Really?  What if I don't give it?_

"Sorry your engagement's over." He said with a sting. It was the only way he knew how to hurt her back.  _You don't win this time, Dr. Hooper._ _  
_

"S-stop it. Just.. stop it." Her voice shook. Sherlock looked up. He couldn't help it, damn him. There was something in her voice that registered. It wasn't anger about the drug abuse. No. It wasn't offense over his commentary on her failure of relationships, either.

It was _pain_. Pain from enduring him. Pain for being his friend after all this time. His assholish behavior, his prattish remarks, his constant and deliberate choice to be a dick. It was pain from caring so much. It seered through Sherlock like a hot, burning rod.

He stared at her. _Molly._ She had a hard look in her eyes that melted all his pride. She was fire and he was steel. It dawned on him suddenly. He could feel her warmth, chipping away at his dents, little by little. A word at a time. A slap at a time. A smile. Oh Sherlock could resist, but how could he? Her fire is comfortable and lovely. It was _warm._

She wasn't backing down. And really, when did she ever? She was obliging. Considerate. Always unselfish. But she was never fickle. He clearly  did not hurt her the way he wanted. She was not giving up on him. There was anger in her, but there was belief. She wanted so much to believe in him.

In an insane flash, he wondered about the time her eyes will simply glaze over and stop caring. One day, he will look into her face and there would be nothing there for him. Nothing at all. How much could he push? How long will it take? _Ah, we all fantasize about our demise, don't we?_ Sherlock smiled with bitterness.

He could call if ever he was close to relapsing again, John prattled. Sherlock looked at them both. John and Molly. This time he tried more earnestly to stress, that it was indeed for a case.

_Okay? It really was for a case. So stop worrying.._

Stop worrying, John and focus on your bike rides, for goodness sakes, will you?

Stop worrying, Molly. Because I get it. _I get it_ , alright? I'm not going to do it again. (Probably.)

_And... I'm sorry._


End file.
